The Sweet Talker (Boston Hawks Hockey #1) - Gina Azzi Page 0,23

any of his thoughts and a thrill dances through my body. “Getting Sims up to the task isn’t a betrayal of Easton,” I say slowly. “You know that, right?”

He exhales heavily and nods.

I’m thankful more appetizers arrive at this moment.

“I’ve never had sushi nachos.” I change the subject.

“Me neither. Especially with this Tex-Mex twist.” Noah adds some nachos covered with hot peppers, raw tuna, and a sriracha-based sauce on my plate. He bites into a nacho and moans. “These are surprisingly delicious.” He nudges my plate toward me and I take a bite.

“Everything here is,” I agree.

Torsten reappears, looking distracted and overwhelmed. “Noah, man, I’m so sorry. I need to go. Something came up. Do you want to come with me or—”

“No worries, man. I’ll catch an Uber or something. Here, take some food to go.” Noah waves to a server.

Torsten shakes his head. “It’s okay. I’m really in a rush. See you guys later?”

“See you, Torsten.” I wave, wondering what could have pulled him away so suddenly. “I hope nothing’s wrong,” I say to Noah as we watch Torsten leave the restaurant.

He frowns, chewing his lip thoughtfully but doesn’t offer any insight on the issue. Noah picks up another nacho and pops it into his mouth. “I get what you said about not betraying my brother but it feels…” he pauses, circling back to our earlier conversation. “Messed up somehow. Today was just, it was pretty fucking bad.”

“I’m sorry.” I remember the rough patches my dad went through when he played. Some days, no matter how hard the team practiced, the rhythm just wasn’t there. If it kept up for more than a week, the frustration plunged him into a mood and he’d sport an expression similar to the grimace Noah’s wearing now.

“I gotta work with the new kid, Sims. Part of it is the fact that he’s not used to playing so hard, for so long at this level. But part of it is the rest of us. We’re not making it easy for him either.”

“Because of Easton?” I guess.

Noah nods. “It sucks. East’s my brother and I’d do anything for him. We’ve always kind of come as a duo. We’ve played together our whole lives. But the team is important too. I don’t want to compromise our being ready for the opening game because I’m not willing to make sure we’re where we need to be.”

“Don’t you think if you come right out and explain that to Easton, he would understand?”

“I think he’d feel betrayed.”

“Maybe,” I say slowly, turning the situation over in my mind. “Or maybe he’d feel a little relieved that there isn’t all this pressure waiting to hit him in the face the second he leaves rehab. Like, now you’re out so get your skates on and deliver the Cup.”

Noah purses his lips. “I never thought about it like that. I mean, hockey is his life. Same as me. He can’t wait to be back out on the ice with his stick in hand.”

“That may be true. But that doesn’t mean there isn’t any anxiety or pressure associated with it either. How would you feel? If you were in East’s position right now?”

He’s quiet for a long moment, thinking over my question. “I wouldn’t want to let the team down.”

“Exactly. Maybe if the team is performing well, it’s less pressure on Easton too. Less of a need for him to come back and be a superstar right out of the gate. His recovery is a lifelong journey. He’s going to have hiccups and tough days. The most important thing he can do is manage his stress, know what his capabilities are, and settle into a routine.”

“But what if he loses his spot?” Noah cringes, as if the thought alone is painful.

“What if he doesn’t and takes the ice when he’s truly ready to perform?” I counter. “You just don’t know, Noah. But you have to do what’s best for Easton and what’s best for the team. You’re thinking of this as an if/or scenario but really it may just be a both.”

He chews another nacho, nodding slowly. Then he turns toward me and his shoulders drop, relief filling his features. “I think you may be right, Indy.”

I pat his hand and eat another nacho.

“You can bill me by the hour,” he adds and we both laugh.

“Listen, Indy,” Noah starts and I know exactly what’s coming.

I’ve spent the past few days remembering everything about last weekend. The way Noah’s hands felt on my skin, the